


Oh, Ophelia

by Insertpoetryhere



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Canonical Character Death, First Kisses, Gen, M/M, Suicide, anyway it’s sad, hamlet referenced, im not sorry but I am?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 23:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18108491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insertpoetryhere/pseuds/Insertpoetryhere
Summary: There are signs Melchior should have seen, and things he should have done. But he had just sat there and watched Moritz fall.





	Oh, Ophelia

**Author's Note:**

> Yes it’s based off the lumineers, you guys know me by now I don’t come up with my own ideas songs do that for me.

Melchior wasn’t one for Shakespeare. 

In fact, he quite hated it. The views it often expressed seemed to be all about shifting the blame to something other than the person at fault. Romeo and Juliet was a great example of this. The play keeps trying to shove this idea that Romeo and Juliet’s deaths were all society’s fault, but at the end of the day they’re the ones who had all these communication issues. Can’t blame a dysfunctional relationship on society.

Or Taming of the Shrew, where the underlying horror story seems to be trying to make a comment about how society treats women. But last time Melchior checked, it was the husband who was starving and abusing her.

However, the newest subject of his hatred seemed to have the opposite issue.

“I think Ophelia’s death is supposed to represent how careless Hamlet is with others…” Moritz murmured, eyes glued on his book. Melchior scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Please, Hamlet had his own shit to deal with. He wasn’t even in the country when she died.” He shook his head, looking back to his own book. Honestly, the one time Shakespeare could have blamed society and he chose not to?

“Hamlet killed her father, indirectly caused her insanity… and didn’t even bother to think of checking on her. And now she’s dead…” Moritz looked deep in thought, so deep in thought that he couldn’t tell if he was reading his book or if he was staring into the pages in search for the answer to whatever question was swimming in his mind.

“Hello? Earth to Moritz!” He waved his hand in front of his friend’s face, snapping him out of whatever trance these cheesy, old timey words had put him in. Moritz blinked.

“Do you know what time it is?” He asked after a few seconds. Melchior pulled his phone out and clicked the home button.

“5:23. Why?” He asked. Moritz’s eyes widened and he jumped up off of Melchior’s bed.

“Fuck! I’ve got to go! See you tomorrow!” He grabbed his stuff and sprinted towards the door. His sleeve had rolled up in the hassle and Melchior held his breath when he saw what they had been hiding.

Cuts. Deep cuts that ran up his pale arms. They looked red and angry, like nothing that belonged on Moritz’s skin. Melchior wanted to count them, see just how many there were, but Moritz had already pulled his sleeves back down. Just like that, they were gone.

He should have stopped him. He should have sat him down and asked him what those were and where they had come from…

But he didn’t.

Instead he shook his head, deciding that he was just seeing things. That was just that.

He sighed, turning his attention back to Hamlet and suffering through yet another act.

\---

Melchior hadn’t seen Moritz in a while.

He wasn’t necessarily worried, just curious. It wasn’t like him to disappear. 

After 2 weeks, he was back. He walked into school as if he hadn’t been gone. But somehow, it seemed as though everyone else was walking on ice around him. 

“Hey.” He said, sitting down next to Moritz in the cafeteria. Moritz looked up and gave him a smile.

“Hey!” He scooted over, giving Melchior more room to sit down.

“Where’ve you been?” He asked simply, taking a bite of his sandwich. Moritz didn’t answer immediately. For a solid minute, he just sat there and moved his mac and cheese around on his tray with his spork.

“I was… sick.” He said simply. Melcior didn’t know if he believed him, but figured that if he didn’t want to tell him then he wouldn’t push.

“Glad you’re better.” He said simply. The conversation shifted to homework, teachers, and other meaningless things. Everything was pretty much as it normally was again.

“Hey… Moritz?” It was Hanschen. Melchior raised an eyebrow. What the hell could he possibly want. “Listen… Ernst told me- What I’m trying to say is-”

Melchior cleared his throat, and Hanschen turned his head. It was like he had just noticed Melchior sitting there. 

“Melchi, could you give us a minute?” He asked simply. Melchior felt his chest tighten. What did Hanschen have to say that Melchior couldn’t hear? Why did he want to talk to him alone?

He stood up reluctantly, glaring at Hanschen as he walked away. He watched closely still from where he sat just a few tables away.

Hanschen stood right where he was, looking down like he couldn’t bare to look Moritz in the eyes. Melchior tried to listen in best he could.

“-I didn’t know about… you know.” Hanschen said awkwardly. “I wouldn’t have said those things if I- If I knew what they were doing to you.”

“It’s fine… It really wasn’t you.” Moritz didn’t look particularly comfortable with this conversation, but did look thankful nonetheless. Melchior understood; Hanschen apologising for anything wasn’t a common sight.

Hanschen gave a nod, and started to go. Suddenly, he paused, turning back to Moritz. “Hey… if you need anyone to talk to, my DM’s are always open… or, you’d probably rather not. But the offer’s on the table.”

Moritz gave an awkward smile. “Thanks.”

Melchior watched in confusion as Hanschen walked away. “What was all that about?” He asked, walking back over to Moritz.

Moritz stabbed at his food again, before biting his bottom lip and pushing his food away. “Nothing important.”

\---

“Melchi… I need to ask you something.” Moritz put his copy of Hamlet down on Melchior’s bed. He looked up, eyebrows knit as he put a bookmark in between the pages of the book in his hand.

“Ok, what’s up?” He rested his chin on the palm of his hand, watching Moritz fidget nervously.

“Is it better to die without regret than to preserve your memory?” He asked, looking up and meeting Melchior’s eyes.

Melchior blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Let’s say you want to be honest with someone, but it will ruin how they view you. And that’s not how you want them to remember you.” Moritz scooted closer, not by enough to really make the action meaningful but still noticeable.

“Well… If that person’s worth a damn, then they shouldn’t give a shit.” Melchior shrugged. Moritz looked back down at the ground.

“But what if I’m afraid of that too?” His question was barely audible, but Melchior had a way of hanging onto every word without him knowing.

“What do you-?” He started, but he was cut off by a pair of soft lips pressing against his as if they were made of glass. The taste of vanilla and the root beer Moritz had been slowly nursing for the past hour.

There was a part of him that wanted to kiss back just as gently, to run his hands through his hair and hold him. But a part of him also wanted to grab onto his hips and push him down on the mattress, see how far they could go.

But he didn’t do either of those things. He just sat there, feeling Moritz’s lips pull back just as carefully as they had come forward. His head was screaming to pull him back in, but his arms didn’t respond.

Moritz quick scanned his face, then hooded his eyes in shame. He stood up, gathering his things and leaving without a word. Melchior didn’t stop him.

He should have.

Melchior’s head spun all night long. Why didn’t he kiss back?

It wasn’t that Moritz was a bad kisser (it had felt like heaven). Something in his brain had just stopped him. His heart had raced and his palms had become slick with sweat. He’d been… scared?

But why? It was just Moritz.

At the same time… It was Moritz. His best friend, who yeah he was a bit more protective of than most would deem normal, and who he might have paid a bit more attention to in the locker rooms than he should have.

Oh god, what did he do?

He grabbed his phone, trying to think of what to text him to try and redeem himself. He was going to apologize for being an asshole, be upfront and honest with him. Maybe ask for nudes? No, now probably wasn’t the time.

He went to unlock his phone, but his lockscreen was full of missed calls from Ernst of all people?

He went to his contacts, giving his friend a call back. The dial tone hadn’t managed to ring twice when Ernst picked up.

“Please tell me Moritz is with you still!” There was no hello, which was strange for Ernst’s always polite mannerism.

“Um… No, he left like 4 hours ago. Why?” Melchior felt his heart rate increase again, but for a different reason. “Is everything ok?”

“He isn’t answering his phone. I’ve tried texting, facetime, even snapchat. Nothing.” Ernst sounded panicked, Melchior could practically hear him pacing around his bedroom.

“Ok, calm down, I’ll try texting him.” Melchior put Ernst on speaker, turning the volume up so he could still hear him as he switched to his texts. To his surprise, Moritz had beat him to it a few hours prior.

Ritz Cracker: I’m sorry.

He read the message out loud to Ernst, who grew even more worried. “What does he mean?” He had asked,

Melchior hesitated before answering. “He and I had a bit of a… Listen, it’s nothing to worry about. He probably just went to bed.”

Ernst was silent for a second. “Yeah… yeah, you’re probably right. Sorry about the call, just got worried.”

“Don’t worry, you’re good. Glad someone’s looking out for him.” He let out a soft, humorless laugh. He then said his goodbyes and hung up the phone, leaning back on his bed and letting himself drift off a little.

It wasn’t long before his mother knocked on his bedroom door, waiting for his confirmation before opening it up. Her eyes were teary, phone still encased in her fingers as she looked at him and sat on the bed beside him, taking his hand.

That’s when he learned what Moritz’s text had really meant.

\---

The days that followed felt unreal.

Melchior’s body went on autopilot, his legs took him to class, his hands wrote the answers to his classwork, and his mouth didn’t dare try to say a word.

Ernst had a breakdown in the hallway the morning after, so bad that even Hanschen couldn’t comfort him. Melchior’s dull heart shattered a little more with every earth shattering scream. Martha Bessell had just covered her mouth, shook her head. Tears spilled down her face, but she didn’t make a sound.

Melchior couldn’t bring himself to do either. 

He sat in English, staring down at his desk as the teacher lead the class in a discussion about Hamlet.

“Mr. Gabor,” She tapped her hand on the table top, successfully grabbing his attention. “Can you explain your interpretation of Hamlet’s role in Ophelia’s suicide?”

The class went silent. All eyes turned to Melchior, burning a thousand little holes in his skull. She had no idea what she was asking him.

He saw Wendla slowly raise her hand, trying to make a valiant attempt to pull him out of this hell. But he didn’t need her to do that anymore. He understood it now.

He looked up at the hard faced woman in front of him, his sad eyes softening her for a bit. “He was a fool.” He answered simply, his voice breaking.

Just like him.

A fucking fool.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t fight me for this


End file.
